


take me home

by finkpishnets



Category: The Order (TV 2019)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Multi, Polyamorous Pack, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 16:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20195560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkpishnets/pseuds/finkpishnets
Summary: “Werewolves,” Randall says. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”“Arooo,” Lilith deadpans.“Okay, but, like, hear me out,” Jack says, trying to stay upright in his stool. The bartender’s crush on Hamish seemed like a good thing an hour ago, but now he’s wondering if she’s intentionally trying to give them alcohol poisoning. “I’ve been having these dreams…”“This just keeps getting better and better,” Hamish says, reaching for the pitcher.[Or: They find each other again. It's...really easy.]





	take me home

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i'm sure i'll get around to writing an angsty post s1 fic at some point (i say like i haven't already started planning one) but in the meantime, have dumbass werewolves finding their way back to each other because _love_. 
> 
> ignores literally anything revealed about s2 and is, like, 90% dialogue oops.
> 
> (i just love the knights of st christopher _so much_ you guys, this wasn't meant to happen.)

**~**

Jack dreams of fir trees and old wood, shadows of monsters that don’t scare him, and adrenaline pulsing through his veins sharper than anything he’s felt while awake. In his dreams he remembers everything, knows it’s right there on the tip of his tongue, and if he just reaches a _little further—_

“Yo, dude,” someone says, a tall someone with a very pink t-shirt and sunglasses perched on his head, “you okay?”

Jack groans back to life, horror movie flashes fading under the harsh overhead lights. “Where am I?”

“Outside your room,” the guy says, and now Jack thinks about it, he looks familiar. “Look, as your RA I have to tell you that pants are mandatory in public spaces. As your peer, I don’t judge, but you _may_ want to take this into your dorm before someone less awesome wakes up and takes blackmail pictures. The internet’s forever, man.”

The back of Jack’s mouth feels like something’s crawled in there and died, and, yeah, apparently he’s mislaid his pants.

Great.

“Come on,” his RA says, “get dressed. You look like you need mimosas and bacon.”

“God,” Jack says, pushing his hair out of his face and finally managing to stand. “I _do_ need mimosas and bacon.”

“Well, hey. I’m Randall and I know where to find the best breakfast burritos in town.”

“Randall,” Jack says, fumbling uselessly at the doorknob and watching as Randall pulls a bundle of keys from his back pocket. “You are my new best friend.”

Randall grins. “And it’s only six a.m. That’s gotta be a record.”

**~**

Jack doesn’t have many friends.

Or, like, _any_.

Which is probably really weird considering he’s been at college a term already. He’s never thought of himself as the loner type, and he’d love to put it down to that weird head injury amnesia shit the doctors had been stumped by, but no one’s even called his name in class so.

Apparently he started college and became an introvert or something.

Which is why he definitely clings to Randall too hard. It’s easy when Randall’s always up for a beer or ribs or watching foreign game shows until three in the morning, and there’s part of Jack that _knows_ he’s being the weird clingy freshman but it also feels like a whole-ass weight’s been lifted off his shoulders.

He doesn’t want to be _that guy_, though, so he goes to the library Friday night to get a head start on his English paper and give Randall a breather.

It’s boring as hell, but at least he won’t have to scramble last minute to scrape a pass.

“I can’t believe you stood me up to _study_,” Randall says, peering over his shoulder, and Jack almost jumps out of his skin.

“_Jesus_.”

“Dude, did you forget?” Randall says, sitting backwards in a free chair with a frown. “Hot wings, margs, and _The Breakfast Club_. It was gonna be awesome.”

“Sorry,” Jack says, because ‘I didn’t want to be so clingy you’d stop being my friend’ sounds unequivocally lame now he’s faced with the realization that Randall might be just as here for this as he is.

“Eh, you’re forgiven,” Randall says, shutting Jack’s textbook. “_If_ you come to this frat party with me, like, right now. I need a beer pong partner.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, and tries not to trip over himself shoving his stuff back in his bag. “Definitely.”

**~**

“Owned, suckers!” the girl across the table yells, smashing the red cup under her fist.

“Now, _that’s_ a beer pong champion,” Randall says, watching with awe from next to the keg.

This whole party has been…well, exactly what Jack expected a frat house party to be like, with just as much PDA, vomit, and lack of alcohol tolerance. Randall’s been keeping up a running commentary, though, and Jack’s barely stopped laughing except to add his own insights. It’s been fun, but as the PDA count gets higher and the hour later, he’s definitely reaching the end of his limit.

“Seriously?!” Ms. Beer Pong Champion shouts. “Isn’t there anyone here who’s ass I haven’t kicked yet?”

“You can do whatever you want with my ass,” some dude in a sports jersey says, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her into his side. Next to Jack, Randall tenses, ready to go into full RA superhero mode.

It’s not necessary.

“Bite me, dickwad,” the girl says, and shoves him hard enough he falls backwards over the pool table. There’s a long moment of silence before people start laughing and his friends go to rip him a new one.

“Hey,” Randall calls, and the girl turns to from at them. “We’re gonna go get toasted and eat ice cream ’til we puke, wanna come?”

The girl considers it for a moment.

“Hell,” she says eventually. “This party was fucking lame anyway.”

**~**

Jack dreams of dense forests and sigils carved into stone. Of skulls and blonde hair and the feel of fur wrapped around his skin.

He dreams of lightning in his bones, words in a tongue that’s not his own, and a clock somewhere striking midnight. 

The same sharp, impossible flashes over and over each night. Sometimes he’s alone, running against the wind, and sometimes he’s not, shadows colliding with his own as branches cut into his cheekbones and he laughs around a smile that’s too big to be his own.

“Family,” his dream self says, and wishes he could make out the faces in the shadows through the haze.

**~**

When Jack wakes up, he’s hungry, hungover, and tangled with Randall and Lilith on his dorm room floor.

He’s also super late for class.

“Shit,” he says, trying to stand up only to trip over Randall’s feet.

“Shh,” Randall says, patting a consoling hand somewhere in the air around him and missing Jack entirely. “S’too early.”

“It’s, like, midday, and I need to shower,” Jack says, and Lilith sits bolt upright.

“A, thank God you weirdos are still wearing clothes,” she says. “B, if I miss chem lab one more time my teacher is going to relish in flunking me.”

“And C?” Jack asks, grabbing a relatively clean hoodie from the pile on the floor.

“C, you fuckers _better_ be at Blade and Chalice later. If I have to drink surrounded by no one but those privileged twats for one more night I’m gonna straight up murder someone.”

“Sounds good,” Randall murmurs, rolling over and falling straight back asleep.

Jack shrugs.

“Seven o’clock good?”

**~**

Jack’s not gonna lie, it’s kinda awesome having people.

Like, Randall _does_ trick him into a game of touch football on the quad with a bunch of juniors who don’t understand the concept of friendly competition even when he’s sporting a bloody nose, and when Lilith earnestly invites him to a poetry slam in town he goes because, hey, if it’s her thing, only for her to duck out with a laugh as the lights dim and leave him listening to his fellow freshman live out their best TwiHard fantasies in verse for the next _three hours._

So, what he’s saying is they’re both dicks.

He’s pretty fond of them anyway.

**~**

“Uh, are you lost?” Jack calls as Randall barrels by him in the hall. As far as he knows, it’s only freshman classes in this building, and the social sciences at that.

“Yo,” Randall says, barely slowing down. “I’d love to chat but I’m late for class.”

“No you’re not.”

“Okay,” Randall admits. “I’m late for a class.”

“I thought you were pre-med?” Jack asks, trying to keep up, and Randall shrugs.

“Oh, I am,” he says. “I don’t know, I was walking by last week and the professor’s got this voice that just draws you in or something? So I guess I’m taking Philosophy 101 now.”

“I’m _pretty_ sure you have to officially apply for that,” Jack says, “and also, I’m trying really hard not to sing ‘Hot for Teacher’ here and I feel I should be getting major props for that.”

Randal sniffs. “Jealousy’s an ugly emotion, dude.” 

“Fine,” Jack says, “sure. Philosophy, why not. I’ve got a free hour.”

The professor — who’s more likely a TA unless he’s genius level smart — gives them a nod of acknowledgement when they sit in the back row and otherwise ignores them in favor of his actual students. Randall looks about five minutes away from putting his chin in his hands and sighing, and Jack’s fully ready to mock the fuck out of him until the professor-slash-TA starts talking and something weird and swoopy happens in his chest.

“Woah.”

“I know right?” Randall whispers, looking giddy. “Also, it’s totally bizarre; I’d never laid eyes on this dude before last week, and I could swear I’ve seen him naked.”

Jack punches him in the arm.

But, well.

Yeah.

Now that he thinks about it…

**~**

“Who’s this guy?” Lilith asks with a frown, pushing the pitcher across the table. By the empties it looks like she’s downed one already.

“My philosophy professor,” Randall tells her.

“Not your professor,” Hamish says, pouring himself a beer and clinking his glass with Lilith’s.

"_A_ philosophy professor,” Randall amends, and Hamish rolls his eyes.

“Still just a TA,” he says. “Still wondering why you’re stalking me.”

“I am _not_—” Randall starts.

“Yeah you are,” Jack says, cutting him off. He leans forward with a stage whisper. “He has a c-r-u-s-h.”

Lilith looks delighted. “You’re such a loser.”

“Uh, firstly, I went to, like, a handful of your classes and maybe found out where you ate lunch, sue me,” Randall says to Hamish, shooting Lilith a glare. “Secondly…no, yeah, fine, but Jack does too!”

Jack chokes on his beer. “_Dude_.”

Randall shoots him a grin that says ‘you started it’ clear as day.

Lilith starts laughing so hard Jack’s worried she’s going to fall off her stool. Hamish just looks flattered.

“There’s something about your voice,” Jack tries so explain, which. Okay, he’s not doing himself any favors. 

Hamish quirks an eyebrow.

Lilith clutches her side. “Oh my God, stop,” she says. “I can’t breathe.”

“I definitely meant that in an entirely different way than it sounded,” Jack says.

“_Anyway_,” Randall says, taking pity on him. “If I’m a stalker, why’d you agree to come out with us?”

Hamish shrugs, looking far too dignified given the circumstances. “I never turn down a free drink.”

“I can appreciate that in a person,” Lilith says, raising her glass in toast. “Also you give me a bit of a serial killer vibe, and, not gonna lie, I’m kinda into it.”

“…Thanks?” Hamish says.

“Dudes, I love group bonding,” Randall says happily. “Shotgun not getting the next round!”

**~**

Hamish texts them to meet him on the lawn outside the social science block, and Jack has to race across campus, already trying to explain his absence to his Econ professor.

“What’s up?” he asks, searching for cuts and bruises and micro-expressions that say ‘actually Jack, I don’t want to hang out with you anymore’ because apparently he became a needy little shit when he wasn’t looking.

“Nothing,” Hamish says, frowning around his smile. “Sit.”

“Oh my God,” Randall says, arriving equally out of breath, Lilith on his heels. “Is this a picnic?”

“Yes,” Hamish says. “None of you eat properly, so.” He waves his hand at the honest to God red and white picnic rug and weaved hamper.

“Sweet,” Lilith says, skipping right over shocked and grabbing a sandwich.

Jack does as he’s told and sits. “Is that a quiche? And…you know cocktails come in cans nowadays, right?”

Hamish sniffs and starts plating up a chicken salad. “Sacrilege.”

Randall sit cross-legged and holds his plate out happily for Hamish to fill. “Just so you know, this is the most romantic moment of my life.”

**~**

This is how he finds out:

“I can’t make it to the bar tonight,” Randall says. “I know, you’re all heartbroken.”

“Uh, sure,” Jack says, “but, why? We all literally only hang out with each other.”

“Wait,” Lilith says, with a glare, “do you have _other friends?_”

“Hell no,” Randall assures them. “You guys know you’re the lights of my life, royalty of my heart, etcetera etcetera. I just have a counselling thing.”

“Everything alright?” Hamish asks, and Jack can physically see Randall melting a bit at the concern.

“Oh, yeah, I just had this blackout a while ago and forgot, like, a ton of shit about my life so I see this doctor every now and then.”

There’s a moment of total silence.

“No way,” the other three say in chorus.

Jack blinks. Hamish and Lilith are staring at Randall with a look like…

_Holy shit._

“Oh my God,” he says, and feels like his brain might explode. “Don’t tell me you guys had amnesia too?!”

This is huge. This is _monumental_. This probably delves into questions Jack can’t even _begin_ to start thinking about, not without his brain exploding. This is—

“_Cool_,” Randall says, unfazed. “We should start a support group!”

—This is just any other day, apparently.

**~**

He dreams of razor-sharp claws and teeth that could rip a man to shreds. Dreams of running through the years with monsters that aren’t monsters at all, of the night sky and being chosen and an age of memories passed down through a generation of choices.

In his dreams he finally understands.

“_Yes_,” Midnight growls.

Jack wakes up gasping.

**~**

“Werewolves,” Randall says. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Arooo,” Lilith deadpans.

“Okay, but, like, hear me out,” Jack says, trying to stay upright in his stool. The bartender’s crush on Hamish seemed like a good thing an hour ago, but now he’s wondering if she’s intentionally trying to give them alcohol poisoning. “I’ve been having these dreams…”

“This just keeps getting better and better,” Hamish says, reaching for the pitcher.

“_Do_ these dreams involve sexy wolf orgies?” Randall asks, leaning forward in interest.

Jack blinks. “…No.”

“Then I’m out,” Randall says, raising his hands in surrender.

“How would a wolf orgy be sexy?” Lilith asks, and Jack cuts off Randall before he can explain.

“It’s just, that, like. Don’t you guys feel we’re _meant_ to be together?”

“Aaand we’re back to the wolf orgies,” Randall says.

“Wouldn’t it need to be six or more people for an orgy, though?” Lilith says. “Like, you have threesomes and foursomes and fivesomes, but who’s ever heard of a sixsome?”

“The New Zealand Herald says four or more people make an orgy,” Hamish says, looking down at his phone. “And sixsome’s a real word, but I hear what you’re saying.”

“I feel like this conversation’s gotten wildly off track,” Jack points out.

Randall frowns. “Stop interrupting our orgy plans, dude.”

“Wait, guys,” Hamish says. He’s still remarkably put together, and if it wasn’t for his glazed eyes and the flush up his neck, anyone would think he was relatively sober. “I think Jack’s trying to tell us something important.”

“_Thank you_,” Jack says. “It’s just. I think maybe we’re together for a _reason_. Like, fate’s trying to tell us something.”

“Oh shit,” Lilith says, grabbing her glass desperately, “he thinks we’re soulmates.”

“_Jack_,” Randall says, clutching a hand over his heart. “Buddy, I thought you were just talking about sex. I’m super touched!”

“If we were having an orgy you would be,” Hamish tells him, then: “Jack, have you been reading the Mills and Boons backlog again?”

“Damn it,” Jack says, slamming his hands on the table and splashing beer everywhere. “I think we need to go get naked in the woods and see if we’re really ancient murderous creatures, okay?!”

There’s a long pause as the others stare at him.

“…Kinky,” Lilith says eventually. “Hell, I’m in.”

“_This_ is why I came to college,” Randall says, grinning excitedly. “I’mma go get us one more round for the road!”

Jack would feel a lot more comforted by their ready agreement if he wasn’t suddenly, like, sixty percent sure it really was going to lead to messy outdoor sex. Maybe seventy percent.

“Eh,” Hamish says with a shrug when Jack voices it. “I’m sure we’ve all done worse.”

Jack’s not particularly comforted by _that_, either.

**~**

“So,” Lilith says, tugging a stray branch from her hair. “Werewolves.”

“I _told you_,” Jack says, and doesn’t even pretend he’s not smug.

**~**

(There are no wolf orgies, thank God, but, well—

_Afterwards._

There’s only so many places to channel all that adrenaline, and they’re already naked, and in the face of three incredibly hot people he’s also, like, _emotionally hot_ for, Jack can’t pretend he’s not a thousand percent down, so.

Yeah.

It’s not _his_ fault it feels totally normal, and besides, someone has to cuddle Randall afterwards.)

**~**

“I’m only sitting through a movie surrounded by horny teenagers if there’s at least one car chase and two explosions,” Lilith says, “and someone buys me my weight in sour worms.”

“Technically Jack’s a horny teenager,” Randall reminds her, passing over a ten dollar note which she immediately pockets.

Jack salutes. “‘Sup.”

Lilith rolls her eyes. “You just made my point.”

“I’ll only watch a car chase if it features Vin Diesel,” Hamish says. “I vote period drama or horror movie.”

“Horror movie,” Jack and Lilith say at the same time Randall says, “Period drama.”

“What?” he shrugs. “Have you guys never seen _Pride and Prejudice? The Importance of Being Earnest?_ Dudes, you are missing _out_.”

Hamish squeezes his shoulder. “I appreciate you.”

Jack’s about to suggest they go with the safe comedy option when they’re waylaid by a girl approximately the size of a pixie with a glare that probably turns people to stone for fun on the weekends.

“You are _not_ supposed to be near each other,” she says, voice as screechy as expected and hands on her hips. Jack’s pretty sure she’s, like, ten seconds away from stamping her foot.

“Chill,” Randall says. “We’re all consenting adults here.”

“Ew, gross,” the girl says, and then tips her head. “Well, okay I’m a little impressed you’re not _totally_ boring. But that’s not the point!”

“It’s a little bit the point,” Jack says. “Also, _who_ are you?”

“I’m…” she stutters, and then actually _does_ stamp her foot. It’d probably be adorable if she didn’t give off such intense bunny boiler vibes. “I’m telling!”

“Telling who?” Jack asks as they watch her wander off.

“No idea,” Hamish says. “I’m just thankful she’s not in any of my classes.”

“She dropped her bag,” Lilith points out. “Wanna leave it at the scene of a crime?”

“_Or_ we could check for ID and return it to her,” Hamish says responsibly, then ruins it by adding, “We’ll keep any cash.”

“No ID,” Randall adds, “but we could see what classes she’s in. Here.”

He passes Jack a small book that looks approximately a thousand years old. “Uh, don’t ask me how I know because I literally do not have an answer for that, but this is Latin.”

“Would _not_ have pegged werewolfiness as coming with an inbuilt Google Translate,” Randall says, leaning over his shoulder, “but good to know.”

“I mean, is this…?” Jack starts, shaking his head. “Does this look like…?”

“Magic,” Hamish agrees with a frown.

“Oh _hell yes_,” Lilith says.

Jack’s not sure if he’s more terrified of the book or her grin.

**~**

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Jack asks.

“Nope,” Randall says, “but when has that ever stopped us?”

Jack tilts his head in thought. “…Fair.”

“Memory spell!” Lilith crows excitedly, climbing over the back of Hamish’s couch.

“Do we need anything for it?” Hamish asks, frowning at her.

“Nope,” she says. “Let’s abracadabra this shit.”

Hamish raises a hand. “Wait. If we’re doing this we should do it properly.”

Five minutes later they’re all holding Boulvardiers.

“To answers,” Hamish toasts.

“To us,” Jack adds, and clinks their glasses together.

**~**

Jack dreams of his mom, of the grief written in the lines of Pop’s face, and the expectations written for him before he was old enough to understand what they meant. Dreams of Edward Coventry’s calculated expressions and antipathy towards discovering another child. Dreams of Alyssa’s laugh and frown and kiss.

He dreams of—

No.

Not dreams.

He _remembers._

Oh crap.

**~**

“Oh my _God_, my girlfriend roofied me for a promotion!”

“Technically not your girlfriend,” Randall says, “aaaand, that is so not the point, sorry.”

Lilith rolls her eyes. “Oh good, does this mean Jack’s going to go all Alyssa mad and continuously fuck up our lives again?”

“Hey!” Jack says.

“She has a point,” Hamish tells him, scowling around the room like his furniture is a personal offence and heading back to the bar.

“…Okay, yeah, but — that seems like forever ago. I mean, not right _now_ it doesn’t because the memories are still streaming back in, but, like, in general,” Jack says, squeezing his eyes shut as events flood his mind. Hamish passes him a drink and he downs it, pulling a face. “Also, did I mention she roofied me?! Like, right after I’d asked her on a date?!”

“Cold,” Randall says, patting him on the back. “We would _never_.”

He thinks about Alyssa’s smile and the way she’d tuck her hair behind her ear, thinks about running from the bad guys and that hotel room and the thrill any time she needed him. And then he thinks about her ambition and how she’d been so insistent they were on different sides of a war, thinks about the look in her eyes right before she’d ripped his memories from him and starts to feel sick.

So he thinks about the Knights instead. Thinks of Randall holding his hand through the dumbest movie of all time, whispering sarcastic comments in his ear and insisting they share a giant sundae afterwards. Thinks of day drinking with Lilith and hiring bicycles to ride through town, singing badly at the top of their lungs and laughing every time someone flipped them off. Thinks of Hamish reading his English texts aloud when Jack had a headache and couldn’t focus on the pages, making him tea with the same intensity he makes his cocktails and not mentioning it in the morning.

Thinks of them all bundled together in a giant heap, not talking, just chilling after a long day and happy for the physical contact.

“I know you wouldn’t,” he says, and Randall smiles.

**~**

“So what now?” Lilith asks, checking her nails casually like they can’t all see the tension around her jaw.

“Now we take our home back,” Hamish says, and Jack thinks it’s fascinating how he can practically _see_ the shroud of leadership slip back over his shoulders. “Then we’re going to actually do some research. Prepare ourselves so nothing like this can happen again. And then we’re going to tear that temple to the ground.”

Lilith’s lips quirk into a smile. “Cool.”

Randall nods in agreement. “Sounds like a plan. But, hey, sidenote: _are_ we still going to be sleeping with each other now we have our memories back?”

Hamish blinks. “Obviously.”

Lilith snorts. “Uh, _yeah_.”

“Great,” Randall says. “Just checking.”

“Oh,” Jack says when they all turn to him with questioning eyes, feelings like his old — new — self. The amnesiac version that understood the world could be just _this_. “I mean. You’re kind of my favorite people, so…”

“_Soulmates_,” Randall sings, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye.

“Family,” Jack reminds him, and isn’t surprised when Lilith enacts her emotions by tackling him painfully against the beer pong table.

**~**

He’s not sure if it’s, like, a magical proximity spell or if Ms. Stone just pays weirdly close attention to the property agreements on campus, but none of them are surprised when she rolls up about an hour after they’ve finished lugging their stuff back home. 

Hamish has already prepared Prairie Oysters — (“A drink only worthy of an enemy.”) — while Lilith and Jack set some basic protection spells.

The doors burst open with a crackle of magic.

“_How?_” Vera asks, arms spread across the doorframe and eyes glinting.

She looks frightened.

“LOVE IS THE STRONGEST FORM OF MAGIC!” Randall shouts from upstairs, and, well.

None of them can argue with that.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me about these idiots on [tumblr](https://madroxed.tumblr.com/). _please._


End file.
